Page 117 of Burn Bright
He stretches my legs open even wider, and an ache spirals through me.Don’t make a sound. Don’t even breathe.Then his fingers slip against my wet heat. My body nearly spasms at the sensitivity. The blanket slips off our heads.Fuck.
I side-eye the darkened living room, nervous about his brothers appearing.
He turns my chin, so I look back at him. When Ben becomes my sole focus, the anxieties fade, and I sink into how he’s lighting my body on fire, how my lungs feel fuller and simultaneously oxygen deprived.
He rubs my clit in slow strokes, and I grind against his hand on impulse. His muscles contract, and our eyes slam together again. Holy.Fuck.
I almost cry out.
He immediately covers my mouth with a strong palm.
He grunts out a sexy, hoarse breath into a deeper, “Harriet….fuck.” His forehead lowers toward mine, and I reach down and grab his wrist, feeling how he’s between my legs.This is really happening.
His lips brush against my ear. “Wet…you…” His words stick to his throat like they’re coated in thick honey. My head is spinning. Dizzying. Me.
Then he slips his finger inside my pussy.Oh my God.The fullness curls my toes, even more when he begins pumping. He starts toying with my clit at the same time, and I think,this is where I’ll lose it.But it’s not what’s setting me off the most.
It’s his eyes.
This exhuming look that I’m more positive we’re sharing. He’s mining my heart, and I’m chiseling out his. Uncontrollable sentiments surge in me, overwhelming every part of my mind.
I instinctually arch my hips into the movement of his hand—the pull-out couch lets out a sudden sharp squeak.Oh fuck, fuck.
We both freeze like we’ve been caught under a giant searchlight. Our heavy, half-captured breaths are the only thing I hear in the quiet. Ben listens and scans the living room. When he glances back at me, his self-assurance tries to ease my panic.
Still, we silently wait a minute for footsteps. I strain my ears. Each second aches with his finger motionless inside me. It’s the longest, hottest minute of my life.
My muscles pulse around his finger in want, and his brows arch at me. He can feel that.He can FEEL that?!I’m beet-red. Hot all over. I just want more. Deeper. But we’re determined to not fuck this up, to not end this in a horrible way. I won’t be able to construct a halfway decent lie if Charlie or Beckett come out here. I’ll have to confess to his older brothers that Ben’s finger is inside me.
And then I’ll have to go pick out a headstone for my grave.
Risks are high. Hooking up in the Cobalt brothers’ living room. I never thought I’d do it, okay, but there are no signs of regret or remorse. I’m all-in on this dangerous path with Ben.
The minute subsides in slow slipping seconds, then he fits another finger in me.Fuckfuckfuck.“Fuck,” I rasp out loud, hopefully soft enough. I writhe beneath him, not even sure how many times I’ve cursed into the air.
I look down beneath the sheets. To his hand cupped against my pussy. When my eyes meet his, we exchange intimate awareness that he has two fingers inside me now.
His lips skim my ear. “G-spot.” He’s not asking. He’s telling me. One single word has cranked up my arousal to smoldering degrees.
I try to whisper back, but all I think is,no one has ever found…Oh, what the…fuck. I shake against him. Full-body vibrations. His smile is even sexier with his pleasure. And I feel like he’s getting off on this just as much as me.
Ben skillfully pumps his fingers in an expert tempo, mimicking thrusts. It feels like sex. Like I’m being fucked, except I don’t know if I’d call it that. A fucking. Because as he clasps my face with one hand and pulses inside me with the other, our eyes haven’t broken apart.
Our aching breaths become in sync again.
Our bodies cake with sweat.
My gaze burns, and I watch his eyes redden as we’re pulled under a powerful riptide together. He’s nodding to me, as if to tell me it’s okay. That I can give into this feeling with him. Water wells in my eyes, spilling into the creases.What the fuck, Harriet?
I’ve never experiencedthis.What is…this?
He’s choked on a gruff, deep noise, and I claw at his arms, hoping he never stops. Hoping this never has a true end.
I lose myself to the friction, the scorching affection,Ben.
A high-pitched moan tears through me—he catches the sound with his hand quickly. But we don’t even pause like before. I don’t think either of us can.
He smothers my whimpers against his large palm. His nose flares as he grits down to detain his own sounds. They release like masculine, grunting breaths. I think he wants to tell me something a couple times, but all he gets out are one or two indistinguishable words. It’s as if communicating has slipped away from us under these heightened feelings.
